


When Your World Falls Down

by SuddenlySullen



Category: Labyrinth (1986), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 07:57:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18361844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuddenlySullen/pseuds/SuddenlySullen
Summary: Peter isn't used to having wishes granted.





	When Your World Falls Down

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is something I write a while ago and always meant to continue, but something about it just doesn't feel right for me to keep going. Right now I would call it 'finished' as a character exploration, though, so I'm going to post it for you all to enjoy since these two don't have enough scenes together.

Peter sprinted up to his bedroom with tears streaming down his face. He collapsed into his bed, sobs tearing through his entire body. No matter how hard he pressed his face into the pillow, he couldn’t get the sight of Ben lying dead in the street out of his head. May had tried to comfort him through talking with the police after she had gotten there, but he had been a complete mess. He wasn’t sure if anyone had understood a single thing he said. The whole time they were talking, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the bloody sheet that covered his uncle’s body where it was still laying in the street. As if a sheet somehow concealed the fact that someone had died there. His whole body had been shaking while they talked. He knew the officer had been trying to help when she told him to breathe, but why should he keep breathing when Ben couldn’t anymore? What made him deserve to continue having air in his lungs while the best man he had ever known lay cold on the ground with lungs full of blood? His mind replayed the way that Ben had moved in front of him, trying to talk the would-be robber down. Ben’s voice had been so calm, just like it always was. He was reaching for his wallet when the bullet tore through him. He was going to give the scrawny, desperate-looking kid whatever he could. Peter remembered thinking it was insane how calm Ben was. The kid with the gun seemed frozen while Peter threw himself on top of his uncle, screaming. He almost swore he heard the kid apologize before he ran off. Peter knew he hadn’t called 911 and he had no idea who had. He only remembered clinging to Ben’s chest until there were suddenly sirens surrounding them. The female officer had guided him off of Ben by the shoulders, letting him fall into her. He knew that they had called his aunt somehow, but had no idea if he had given them his phone or if they had found Ben’s. When May had arrived, there were no tears staining her face. Her mouth sat in a straight line while she talked through the police barricades. Peter couldn’t help but be angry with her for not being more upset. His fists balled up in his sheets as more sobs tore through him. His throat hurt from all of the screaming that he had done and he knew he was getting blood all over his sheets, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to care. Clutching into his pillow, he thought back to when his parents had died. How he had found himself thrown into a new family without any warning. And now, again, a family was falling apart around him. Thoughts of his childhood brought him back to where he sought comfort then. He remembered a story that he used to read about a different world, full of faeries and magic. With sobs still coursing through his body, he found himself yelling out vague wishes, grasping for anything that might take him away from what he was feeling. 

“I wish the Goblin King would take me away right now,” he stuttered out under his breath, still weeping into his pillow. 

A strong gust of wind blew through his open window. He could hear the rain hammering outside, but had no idea when it had started. He wasn’t wet, so he assumed after he had gotten home. Somehow, the thought of the rain washing Ben’s blood off the street made him sob even harder. The thought of all the evidence that Ben had once walked on this earth disappearing was something that Peter couldn’t handle. Branches rattled against the side of the house and Peter thought that he should probably shut the window before his carpet was soaked through, but made no effort to remove his face from his pillow. Thunder boomed outside, flashes of lightning illuminating the room every few moments. Unbeknownst to Peter, a Crested Owl had landed on his windowsill and was staring intently into his bedroom, watching his slight body tremble with grief. In the blink of an eye, the owl transformed into a man. His silhouette cast across the room. Pitch black hair draped over his shoulders with an impossible shine. His cape wrapped around his shoulders, glittering in the lighting flashes through the window. A horned crown rested on his head, nearly brushing the ceiling. Rare as it was that someone wished themselves to him, this was not the first time it had happened, although it was by far the saddest. Loki reached forward, placing a hand on Peter’s shoulder. Peter did not jump. Rather, he turned to face the man before him with a complacent look of defeat. His body still shook as though he were crying, but there were no tears left to fall. 

“You’re him, aren’t you?” Peter hiccuped.

“I am. Come to grant your wish, Peter.” His voice was solemn. He found no pleasure in taking a child who would wish themselves away.

Peter nodded slightly, dropping his head back against his pillow. 

“No fight in you?” The man sounded surprised.

Peter shook his head, looking up at the man before him with a look that betrayed not even a hint of fear, only acceptance. Loki’s heart broke for the boy in front of him. He wondered, briefly, what would happen if he refused this wish. Would the boy get over it? Move on with his life? Be happy again? Or would he take matters into his own hands in the bathtub, crying out that if only someone had taken him, he wouldn’t have had to resort to that. 

“Please.” Peter’s voice was quiet. Almost so quiet that Loki would have thought it had merely been a wishful thought, if it weren’t for the hazel eyes staring up at him pleadingly from the pillow.

With a slow wave of his hand, Loki transported Peter to a world altogether very different from his own. His bedroom fell away around him and he felt his vision swimming into blackness. When he could finally see again, he looked around and found himself in a bed, but not his own. Plush sheets cradled his head where his scratchy, cotton ones had been moments before. He still refused to lift his head from the pillow, burying it into the material and allowing himself to continue shaking with tearless sobs until his body finally gave in and fell asleep. 

When Peter awoke, he finally took a moment to look around him. The bed he had been sleeping in sat in the shade of a ring of trees outside what looked to be a giant maze with a castle at the center. Looking over it, he felt nothing but emptiness. There was no longing for the home he had left behind because what would he really be going back to? There was no fear. The man who brought him here could easily have made his arrival frightening, but he hadn’t. Instead, he had been placed gently in a bed to sleep off his grief. He had been given the shade of what looked to be the only trees anywhere in sight. Peter sighed, sitting up on the edge of the bed. He looked down and realized that his clothing had changed. Rather than the bloodstained garments he had been wearing in his own bed, he wore a simple pair of stretchy leggings and a flowing tunic. The choice of outerwear confused him only for a moment until he realized how blisteringly hot it was around him, made bearable only by the shade of his little grove. Standing, Peter walked forward towards the only visible opening in the maze. He saw a small figure bouncing around near it. 

“Hello,” Peter’s voice called out, but it sounded dull even in his own ears. 

The figure turned around, giving him a slight smile. “Hello there, little boy. You don’t seem upset. Which must mean,” the small, wrinkled man quirked his head slightly, “you wished yourself away.”

Peter nodded. 

“Not to worry, my boy.” The man nodded. “The labyrinth will take care of you.”

Peter looked at the walls around him, which appeared to be erupting with flowers where he walked near them. Flowers that quickly retreated once he had moved away from them. “How?” He looked down at the man.

“Don’t question the magic.” The man shrugged. 

Peter reached forward and stroked one hand over the petals of a flower on the wall. It seemed to shudder under his touch and bloomed even wider. Peter’s mouth remained in a hard line, his chest still feeling hollow. “What’s your name?” He looked down at the shorter man.

“Hoggle.” The man replied matter-of-factly.

“Nice to meet you, Hoggle. I’m Peter.” Peter’s voice was soft. His throat burned from all of the screaming and crying he had been doing. “What am I supposed to do?” 

Hoggle shrugged. “It isn’t often that we get one as old as you that wants to be taken.”

“That’s…. reassuring, actually.” Peter nodded. 

The shorter man shook his head and wandered off through a door that Peter could have sworn hadn’t been there a few moments prior. Peter turned, running his hand along the wall as he walked. In its wake, a line of flowers bloomed wider than anywhere else on the wall, reaching out as if to grab him and wrap him up in their petals. He followed the wall without any sort of destination in mind, stopping occasionally to watch the walls open up, as if inviting him inside. One particular opening interested him. Through the wall, it appeared that there was a giant fountain. Somehow, it looked dark in that part of the labyrinth. Stepping through the archway, Peter was unsurprised when it closed behind him. Twinkling lights danced above the fountain. When he tried to focus on them, they disappeared. When he looked at them out of the corner of his eye, however, he could see that they were actually tiny faeries. The flipped and twirled around each other, seeming to play in the mist thrown off by the fountain. Sitting down on the edge of it, Peter let his hand drag through the water. Where it made contact, the water started to shine gold. The golden fluid twisted around the clear water, mixing into the fountain. Closing his eyes, Peter thought he could almost hear the faeries whispering around him. When he opened them again, the fountain ran completely golden. The twinkling creatures all seemed to have settled on the ledge of the fountain next to him, staring up at him. He found that he could look directly at them, either because they were holding still or because they allowed it. One especially small faerie lifted off the ledge and hovered in front of his nose. They locked eyes and Peter tilted his head curiously. The faerie did the same. He felt one corner of his mouth twitch. She tossed her head back, seemingly in a laugh, but Peter only heard a soft tinkling that reminded him of the jingle bells they hung on the door at Christmastime. 

When he stood up from his seat on the edge of the fountain, the faeries seemed to return to their previous positions in the sky. This time, however, he was able to focus on them. Their tiny wings glittered against the darkness. He walked around the edge of the walls, watching his feet as he moved. Every place he stepped immediately burst with life. Grasses and flowers appeared where his feet lifted off the ground. The walls all around him opened up, offering him many options for places to walk. He chose the least interesting looking pathway, with no twists and turns that he could see. It looked like it went straight on forever. He paid no attention to that, though, distracted by the way his hands and footsteps were bringing life to an otherwise barren place. He thought about his uncle Ben and how, if only he had had this ability before, maybe his touch could have breathed new life back into his uncle. Images of his uncle dead in the street came back to him, causing him to lean back against the wall of the labyrinth and slump down to the ground. His head fell forward to rest against his knees as tears streamed down his face. He watched as they landed on the ground between his feet and the places where they dropped sprouted the most beautiful, almost translucent, blue flowers he had ever seen. Even the flowers couldn’t stop him from hugging his knees to his chest and sobbing. His breathing quickened as he thought about everything that had happened to Ben. He tried to replay the whole night, but there were places that he seemed to have no memory of what had happened. The words that people had spoken to him sounded like he had been underwater when he tried to play them back in his mind. The only vivid memory he had was the image of Ben, bloody and gone, lying in the middle of the street. 

“Peter?” Hoggle’s familiar voice was in front of Peter and when he picked his head up, he saw the worried look on the short man’s face.

Peter tried to force a smile that ended up feeling more like a grimace. “Hello Hoggle.”

“Are ya - Are ya lost?” Hoggle twisted his hands around each other. “The labyrinth seems to like ya.” He looked down at their feet, planted on lush grass. “If you ask, it will probably show you the way.”

“The way where?” Peter looked side to side at the seemingly endless path, wondering where Hoggle had come from. 

Hoggle shrugged. “Most who run the labyrinth do it because they want something. They wished something away and want it back.”

“I wished myself away. You know that.” Peter looked down at the flowers that had bloomed from his teardrops. They seemed to vibrate when he spoke. 

“It happens. Sometimes,” Hoggle’s voice lowered to a barely-audible whisper, “King Loki doesn’t grant the wishes. You must have really meant it.”  

Peter nodded slowly. “I still do.”

  
  
  


Loki twirled his crystal balls around in his hand, watching them intently. The image in them showed Peter calmly wandering through the labyrinth. Even the faeries seemed to either pity him or simply find him fascinating. As a general rule, they assaulted anyone that dared come near them and kept anyone who found their grove captive there. Peter, however, had turned their fountain water to gold and been allowed to simply leave. It tugged at Loki’s chest to watch him lose himself on the ground of the labyrinth. The tightness only barely eased when he watched the walls open up to guide Hoggle to him. He had no goal, that much was clear, otherwise the labyrinth would have given it to him. Loki wondered, absently, if his labyrinth were betraying him or trying to tell him something. As much as he hated to give the little cretin, Hoggle, any credit for anything, he was right about that much at least. 

“I still do.” Peter’s voice echoed from within the crystal ball. 

Loki’s jaw tightened. It hurt him to think that Peter was still hurting in such a way that he would rather remain in this strange place than try to find his way home. His voice rang through the throne room with such an air of finality. He had to admit, though, that this was a first. Generally speaking, when a child wished themselves away, they were either too small to do anything about their terrible home situation, in which case they joined the fae, generally being adopted by someone in another kingdom. Otherwise, they were old enough to be spoiled brats, who ended up running the labyrinth for their freedom and returning home much nicer than they had left. Peter, however, was neither of these things. He was too old to be adopted and he had no desire for freedom. In fact, the labyrinth and all her suffocating walls and booby traps seemed to be his idea of freedom. 

“Sir,” the voice of one of his advisors interrupted his train of thought.

He cast a sideways glance at her. “Yes?” There was a vague threat in his voice.

“We have prepared a room for the boy.” 

He nodded curtly, waving her off with one hand. 

She bowed low before backing out of the room.

Loki looked back down into his crystal balls, following Peter as he walked further along the walls of the labyrinth. He smiled as the trail of flowers followed behind him. It seemed to have drawn the attention of more than himself. A pair of goblins tiptoed along behind Peter, poking at the flowers. Whenever Peter turned around, the labyrinth shifted to hide them from his view. Loki wondered why it might do that, if there was something he needed to know about the goblins’ intentions. He put on his best authoritarian glare before standing up, shifting into his owl form. He flew high over the labyrinth, pleased with the sight of new life that Peter had brought to it, even as his own had clearly crumpled around him. When he appeared before the pair of goblins, they cowered against the ground. 

“And what, pray tell, do you two think you’re up to?” His voice was a low, threatening growl.

Terrified squeals tore through the air around them as the two goblins pointed at each other, yammering incoherently. 

“Well, since no one wants to take credit,” He swirled a crystal in his hand. “To the bog with you both, then.” And with a wave of his hand they were gone.

Peter had turned around at the sound of the goblins shrieking, in time to see Loki wave his hand and poof them away. His head tilted to one side, barely recognizing the man that stood before him as the man who had come to his bedroom to take him away. 

“Where did they go?” Peter’s voice was quiet and calm. 

Loki turned, surprised that his labyrinth had allowed Peter to see them. “They’re just thinking some things through.” He grinned wickedly. “Our little friends wanted to play tricks on you, I think. But the labyrinth seems to have a certain fondness for you.”

Peter blinked slowly, processing the smooth words that came out of the man before him’s mouth. “Loki.” He said under his breath. “That’s what Hoggle called you.”

“Brave little gnome,” Loki winked. “It is my name, but he should know better than to use it, lest he call upon me to pay him a visit.”

“You saved me.” Peter’s voice was flat, either missing or ignoring the vague threat in Loki’s voice. “Twice now, by my count.”

“You’re welcome.” Loki replied simply. He paused for a moment before continuing. “There is a room in the castle for you, should you desire.”

Peter’s hazel eyes widened slightly. “Castle?”

Loki twisted his hands, conjuring a crystal ball in them. The ball shimmered briefly before showing Peter an image of the inside of a beautiful castle. He felt his jaw drop. It was like nothing he had ever seen before, except in his imagination. Colors he couldn’t name draped the windows. The ceilings rose so high that the rooms seemed endless. Tearing his eyes away from the crystal, he looked around at the walls of the labyrinth. Seemingly in response, the wall next to them opened up. It showed a straight pathway to the steps of the castle. Spots of green bloomed along it, almost in the same way that footprints would fall.

“Amazing.” Loki mumbled. “She seems much fonder of you than she has ever been of me.”

Peter looked up at Loki in confusion. “She?”

“The labyrinth. I can only assume her to be female, what with her constant mood swings and never looking the same way twice.” Loki shrugged.

A smile - a real smile - spread across Peter’s face. It only stayed the briefest moment, but Loki had seen it and it was brilliant. Tiny dimples had speckled Peter’s cheeks and the corners of his eyes had wrinkled. His shoulders had moved back almost imperceptibly. It was like the boy smiled with his whole body, rather than just his mouth. The most shocking part of the smile for Loki, though, was the absolute honesty of it. He knew much of honesty, having used it and twisted it to his whims for many centuries, but Peter’s brand of honesty shone like a star, rather than a mirror. Loki wondered if he might burn up if he looked directly at it for too long. He decided that that was a risk he was willing to take, but when he focused back on Peter, the smile was gone and he seemed to once again be only a shell of himself. It occurred to Loki that he didn’t actually know what had happened before Peter had made the wish. He had no idea what had happened to the poor boy to shatter his world so wholly. He vowed to ask him, though not at that moment. No. Some things required patience and finesse. Plucking at humans’ emotions was one of those things. 

Loud shattering sounds broke Loki from his thoughts. Peter swiveled his head around curiously. “It appears that I must attend to some less-enjoyable matters.” Loki growled. 

Peter turned to respond, but the man was gone. He watched a Crested Owl soar over the walls of the labyrinth. The pathway before him stayed just as it had been, seeming to invite him to the castle. He shrugged slightly, stepping forward. No sooner had his feet moved into the new pathway than the walls behind him closed off his previous path. He stepped on the grassy spots that had grown along the path, thinking back to his childhood. He could remember doing the same thing across their lawn with Ben’s footprints through the snow. Ben would always smile and tell him that someday he would grow up and be even bigger than Ben was. He had never believed him. Tears pricked at the backs of his eyes again. This time, though, they didn’t burn him. He looked back fondly on all of the times he and Ben had spent hours building the perfect snowman only to come in and be scolded by Aunt May because their hands were purple and numb. He closed his eyes, trying to force back his tears and continued to wander along the path. 


End file.
